


The Last of the Real Ones

by relised



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prison, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Borderline Personality Disorder, Car Accidents, Court appointed psychiatrist, Flashbacks, Kidnapping, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, More tags possible, Past Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prison, Prison Sex, Restraining order, Scars, Seizures, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, Suicidal Thoughts, Traumatic Brain Injury, cell mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2019-08-07 06:37:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16403201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relised/pseuds/relised
Summary: Billy leaves an hour after the funeral. Steve really should have seen that coming. But he loses every bit of his support system in a matter of a week, which leads to a rough few years.A restraining order, a mental break down, a kidnapping attempt, a car accident and Five years after what he'll only refer to as "That Night" later, Steve finds himself serving a minimum of 15 years in prison with no other than Billy Hargrove as his cell mate. Billy wants nothing more than to make up for leaving while Steve wants nothing more than for everything to stop.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a prompt I saw on tumblr about Billy and Steve being cell mates after Steve snaps and hurts Nancy or Jonathon. I got a little obsessed with that and so this was born. 
> 
> Title is from the song "The Last of the Real Ones" by Fall Out Boy.

Max drummed idly on the metal table in the visitors room as she waited. She glanced around at the other families, smiling at a toddler who was trying to pull away from her mother at the next table. She glanced up as the buzzer went off and the gate slid open. Several other inmates dressed in orange filed into the room before she saw who she was looking for.

"Billy!" She cried, pulling her step-brother in for a tight hug. With his hands cuffed in front of him, all he could do was squeeze her side a bit. But he was able to burry his face in her hair for a breath or two, breathing in the familiar scent of her vanilla shampoo, Susan’s cigarettes and old books. She had grown several inches since he'd been arrested and it surprised him every time he saw her.

"Hey squirt," he mumbled, a small smile on his face as he sat at the table. The chain from the handcuffs clinked across the metal as he rested his arms in front of him, searching her face. She was the only one who visited him, and she only ever came every other month during the school year. He'd never admit it, but these visits were the only thing keeping him going. "So, what's been going on since the last time you were here."

"My mom divorced your dad," Max said brightly, as if normal people would think that was a happy occasion. It was music to Billy's ears, though.

"'Bout damn time," he said, his blue eyes shining as he smiled at her. "She gonna move you guys back to California now?"

"No, this is home. Or at least for now. Besides, I graduate next year and all my friends are here. And you're here for what, another 15 years?"

"At least."

"Yeah, well I know we're the only ones who ever come see you. I know you probably don't believe it, but Mom doesn't want to leave you here by yourself. She cares. Which, by the way, she put more money in your account this morning."

"Oh...I mean I don't expect you guys to wait for me. I fucked up; you have no obligations now that Susan's wised up and left Neil's stupid ass. You don't have to stay..." Even as he said it, Billy knew he couldn't keep the disappointment off his face.

"We love you, Billy. Even if you're a dick and don't always deserve it. Mom and me aren't gong to give up on you. Not after everything that happened with your dad. And with everything else..." She didn't have to say anything more. He knew exactly what she meant.

"Yeah. Well tell Suzanne thanks. And that she can come visit sometime...if she wants..."

"I know..." Max said with a sad smile, chewing on her thumbnail. Billy's wrist twitched and he flinched at the metal on metal sound of the chain.

"What else is going on? You been enjoying your summer?"

"Um, no, actually," Max said, chewing on her lips. "We've spent most of the first two weeks of summer at Steve's trial."

"Fuck," Billy mumbled, lifting his hand to play with his mother's charm around his neck. He cursed silently when he remembered for what was probably the thousandth time that they took it when he was incarcerated. "How's that going? His dad's fancy lawyer will probably get him off, right?"

"It's actually been going pretty bad for him. His dad disowned him so he's just got some shitty public defender. The guy tried to do an insanity defense since it seems like he just snapped, but the guy totally botched it and the judge threw it out." Max paused when Billy flinched across the table. "Jury started deliberations yesterday. They're supposed to present their decision tomorrow morning."

"Well fuck. Have you talked to him?"

"Hopper won't let us. Besides, Mike's really upset about it and it just feels like I'm going against the Party to try to talk to him. Which is stupid, right? I mean Steve was apart of the Party. Or at least he was until..."

"Until that night, yeah. I know. Has Hopper said how long he's looking at if they find him guilty?"

"Depending on the judge, 15-30 years?" Max said, her pale face seeming to go even paler. "I mean if he'd just broke the restraining order, that would have been one thing. But the kidnapping and the drugs and accident. It's just...It's bad, Billy." Billy nodded his agreement, trying to remember all the details he'd picked up from her visits over the past few months. "But Hop said he'd probably end up here 'cause they think he's violent..."

"Yeah, well by definition I think the kidnapping would make him violent," Billy said with a shrug. "I'll uh...I'll try to call tomorrow to see what happened. Or keep an eye out for him. My cell mate got released early this week, so who knows, maybe he'll get put in with me."

"Or maybe they'll find him innocent?" Max said, her voice hopeful. But they both knew the likelihood of that was low.

"Maybe," Billy said, giving her a small smile. Even after everything they'd seen, his step-sister always had this optimistic streak that Billy understood. "Tell me about what else you've been up to. You learn anymore tricks on your board?" It was the same go to question he'd asked her for the past three years he'd been locked up, but she always lit up when he asked.

"Oh my gosh! I have to tell you about this move I finally landed!" She gushed, and he let her blab away until the guards were coming to lead him back to his cell.

***  
"Ladies and Gentlemen of the Jury, have you reached a verdict?" Judge Chambers asked, turning his leather swivel chair to the jury box in front of him. Steve swallowed thickly, shifting from one foot to the other as he waited next to his court appointed public defender. He subconsciously flattened his hair over the deep scar that ran from his right temple to the bridge of his nose, a side effect of the car accident that had helped land him in this situation.

"We have, your honor," a tall man Steve recognized as the manager of the grocery store down town said. He paced a small slip of paper to the bailiff who passed it to the judge. The judge read the slip before nodding to the jury foreman again. "We the jury have found the defendant Steven Gregory Harrington...Guilty of all charges, your honor."

Steve felt his stomach drop as Nancy's family let out sighs of relief to his right. He continued to stare ahead with without seeing anything as the judge continued on.

"Thank you Ladies and Gentleman of the Jury for you hard work on this case. You are dismissed" As the jury filed out of the jury box, Judge Chambers swiveled in his chair to face Steve. He shuffled his notes that he had taken through the trial, finally removing his glasses to rub tiredly at his eyes. "Do you understand how serious this is, Mr. Harrington?"

Steve flinched when his attorney elbowed him in the ribs. He swallowed thickly against before clearing his throat. "Yes, your honor."

"I hope you do. Anyone of these four counts is a felony; all four of them could easily send you away for life." Steve flinched, but kept his eyes trained just to the right of the judge. "I do feel, however, that you are a very sick individual that needs help or you are going to hurt more people. Or yourself. So I sentence you between 15-45 years at Pendleton Correctional Facility, a maximum security facility. While you are an inmate there, you will be seen be a facility psychiatrist to work on your...issues. When it comes time for parole, your psychiatrist will be consulted to ensure you are...safe...to return to the society. Do you understand, Mr. Harrington?"

"Yes, sir." Steve said quietly, letting his eyes drop to his feet.

"Then I hereby reman you to the custody of the Indiana Department of Corrections immediately. Court adjourned." The audience climbed to their feet as Judge Chambers hammered his gavel against the desk. Two of the county jail guards approached Steve and pulled his arms behind his back to put handcuffs on him.

As he was led out of court, Steve could see Max and Joyce looking at him with sad eyes, while Mr. Wheeler, Mike and Johnathon stared at him with anger. He couldn't blame them. If he was in their place, he'd be just as mad.

The guards led him to one of the holding cells in the basement of the courthouse. Steve rubbed at his wrists when the handcuffs were removed and the gate was shut.

"When," he started, stopping to clear his throat. "When do I go to Pendleton?"

"It will be a couple hours. There are a couple more cases finishing up then we'll send everyone at once." Steve nodded, sitting heavily on the bench in the back of the cell. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees, his hands wrapped around the back of his neck. His head was killing him, another side effect of the accident.

Steve paced the small cell for what felt like an eternity before he heard a set of familiar footsteps. He looked up to see Hopper standing in front of him, his file and a set of shackles in his hand.

"Hey kid," he said, slotting a key into the gate. "I said I'd deal with your transfer."

Steve swallowed thickly nodding his head as he stepped back from the gate. Hopper fit the transport belt around his waist before fitting the handcuffs attached to the belt to his wrists. He bent down to fit the shackles around his ankles, running the connecting chain back to the loop built into the belt. The old man gestured for Steve to sit back down as he flipped through Steve's file.

"I know we didn't do right by you, kid. We didn't do right by you at all after that night. The kids had each other, Jonathon and Nancy had each other, me and Joyce had each other. And you..."

"I had nothing," Steve choked out, looking down at his cuffed wrist with tears in his eyes.

"I see that now. I didn't know, then. Maybe we could have stopped things from getting this bad. And I'm sorry, Steve, that I didn't notice." Steve nodded, not trusting himself to speak. "But this is what we've got to work with now. You do your sentence. You do what the therapist tells you. And when you get out, I promise, I will help you get back on your feet. Okay?"

"I...I'm scared," Steve finally whispered, glancing up at the chief before looking down at his feet.

"I know. Listen, five years ago I never would have said this. But Billy's at Pendleton. Try to stick close to him. At least in the beginning, okay?" Steve nodded again as another set of footsteps approached the cell.

"Chief? The bus is ready," Office Powell said, not meeting Steve's eyes.

"Time to go, kid," Hopper said, grabbing Steve by the elbow and hauling him to his feet. They walked slowly down the hall to the back exit where the faded tan bus stood idling, the chains binding Steve's wrists and ankles jingling as he walked. "Behave yourself," Hopper said with a final squeeze to Steve's shoulder before he handed him off to one of the guards stationed with bus.

"Name?" The tall man at the door said, a clipboard filled with a paper in his hands.

"Harrington," Steve grunted out. The man nodded as he checked off his name.

"Fourth seat back on the left." Steve slowly climbed the steps, focusing on not tripping over the chain. He sat heavily in the seat, watching with wide eyes as another guard slid the chain between his feet into a ring on the floor and fit a bar that reminded him of a roller coaster across his lap that pinned his wrists. He furrowed his brow as they checked his restraints before they moved onto someone else.

"Maximum Security, kid," a burly old man across the row said. His chains seemed to be heavier than Steve's and he seemed quite relaxed as if he'd done this before. "We're the worst of the worst. It wouldn't do for them to let us escape on the way there, huh?"

Steve gulped, letting his head fall back as the bus pulled away from the station.

***  
It was a two hour drive from Hawkins to Pendleton Correctional Facility, but to Steve it felt like minutes. The guards came around and undid the additional restraints, starting at the back of the bus and leading those prisoners our before releasing another. Steve was at about the middle of the bus and watched anxiously as men twice his size were lead past.

Finally a guard flipped the switch under his seat releasing him. The guard pulled him up by his elbow much like Hopper had early and lead him off the bus. Steve stood in line next to the other inmates, trying to stay still to keep his chains from jingling. Finally the guard with the clipboard stood in front of them.

"My name is Officer Althouse, this is Officer Jackson and Officer Willow. When we call your name you will go to where you are directed. Albert. Alveraz. Anderson. Barker." Steve watched as the called inmates shuffled forward, entering the doors that the guards directed them to. "Dawson. Harrington."

Steve jerked forward, tripping on his chains before righting himself. He entered the far far he was pointed at, falling into line behind Dawson. Three more men followed him in before the door was shut.

A tall guard whose name tag read Wood stepped forward and started undoing all of their restraints. Another guard started dropping plastic boxes in front of each inmate.

"Strip down and put all your belongings in the box in front of you," Wood said as he and the other guard pulled on a pair of medical gloves. Steve had never had a problem being naked in the locker room, but today he was having to stop himself from holding his hands over his dick. The other guard stood in front of Dawson as Wood moved in front of Steve. He clicked on a small flashlight before speaking again. "Open your mouth. Now turn around. Spread your legs, bend over and grab your ankles," Wood stated with a bored expression.

Steve swallowed thickly as he did as he was told. He closed his eyes as the man performed a cavity search. It was probably the most embarrassing and traumatic thing he'd ever been through. Finally Wood pulled away, pulling his gloves off and dawning a new pair.

"Go stand over there," he said, pointing Steve to where Dawson was already waiting in a tiled area of the room.

"I mean, least they could do is buy us dinner first, right?" The man joked, but Steve didn't even acknowledge him. As the other three men joined them in the tiled area, Wood flipped a switch on the wall and the shower heads above them all started raining down on them. Steve flinched as the cold water hit him, but quickly fell in line as the guards yelled at them to get under the stream.

Finally they were lead to an area to dry off where orange jumpsuits and matching canvas shoes lay waiting for them. Steve quickly dressed, keeping his back to the everyone else as he did so.

"Dawson, you're with me," Guard Anderson called, stepping out of one of the intake office with a file in his hand.

"Harrington, with me," Wood said, and Steve followed him quickly, brushing his hair to cover his scar again. "Sit." The man said, gesturing to a metal chair welded to the ground in front of his desk.

Steve sat stiffly, watching as the man flipped through the paper work in front of him. He scribbled something down in a few sections before finally looking up a Steve.

"Do you have any tattoos?" He asked first.

"N-no." Steve stuttered, his brow furrowed.

"Any identifying features? Birthmarks? Scars?" At that he looked up at Steve and seemed to notice his scar for the first time. "Well that would be one. We'll photograph it when we're done here. Now, any medications?"

"Um Immitrex for migraines? But it's not an everyday thing, just when they get bad."

"Nothing else?"

"Um, no?" Steve said, shifting slightly.

"Well you'll start seeing Dr. Potter tomorrow and she will probably change that."

"Dr. Potter?" Steve asked, chewing on his lip.

"Your new court appointed psychiatrist, Harrington. You'll see her tomorrow morning after breakfast. Now move over here, in front of the height chart on the wall."

Steve did as he was asked, taking the sign Officer Wood handed him with his name and prisoner number listed under Pendleton Corrections. He held the sign under his chin and stared into the camera, trying not to grimace at the flash.

"Push your hair back so I can see your scar fully. Hold this just like this," Wood said as he held a small tape measure to the wound. He stood back and snapped a few shot of the scar before returning the camera to his desk. Wood crossed the room and pulled a supply of bedding, another uniform, a pair of sweats and a coat and handed them roughly to Steve. He also handed him an ID to clip to his uniform.

"This way, Harrington." He lead them through a locked door, talking over his shoulder. "New inmates spend most of their time in their cells until they're assigned a job. Job placement takes a couple months if you are determined to be able to work. Potter will have a say in that for you. You get an hour of rec time a day after lunch. Breakfast is at 8, Lunch at noon, dinner at six; your cell mate can show you to the cafeteria. Cells open at 7am for showers, and close at 8pm. Lights out at 9. You'll be restrained and escorted to Dr. Potter's office tomorrow morning at 9:30. As of right night now that will be once a week at minimum, but she may increase that."

Officer wood stopped outside a cell with a large red three painted above the gate. "Open on three for new inmate!" The man yelled and the gate slowly slid open. A tall, blonde, buff inmate stood with his back to the gate, not acknowledging anything going on in the hallway. Once Steve had stepped inside the cell, Wood once again called out. "Close on three!"

Steve flinched as the glare clanged shut. He slowly walked towards the bunks, placing his stuff on the top bunk since the bottom was already taken. He leaned against the top bunk, covering his face in his hands as he tried to slow his breathing. His new cellmate still hadn't said anything to him, but Steve could hear him moving around. Finally he heard the guy sigh before he said:

"Welcome to your new home, Pretty Boy."

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has brief mentions of, attempted prison assault, two character deaths, drug use, and kidnapping. If I missed anything please let me know. I hope you like this!

_Steve roughly pulled his tie over his head, tossing it carelessly onto his dad's desk as he approached the liquor cabinet. Billy watched him with a blank stare on his face from the doorway, finally sighing before turning to the stairs. Steve poured himself a large glass of whiskey, drinking half of it in one go before dropping heavily on the couch. He let his head fall back with his eyes closed, trying to block out all of what had happened that day. He could hear Billy stomping around upstairs but didn't have it in him to follow_.

_Steve was starting to drift off when he heard Billy's feet on the stairs. He jumped slightly when the blonde dropped his bag on the floor next to the door. Billy crossed the room in his too tight jeans and leather jacket, dropping onto the couch next to Steve and prying the bottle of whiskey out of his hands. The light hit the bruises around his eye and ghosting down his jaw just right and Steve felt like someone had his heart in a vice._

_"What are you doing?" Steve asked quietly, watching as Billy took a long pull from the bottle._

_"Leaving," Billy said simply._

_"You can't leave now. You said-." Billy cut Steve off with a sigh._

_"I said I'd stay for the funeral because I didn't want you to have to do that shit alone. The funeral is over. I've got to go. You know why I've got to go."_

_"I know why you have to leave your dad's, but I don't know why you have to leave Hawkins. You can stay here, you know you can stay here. We graduate in a month, Billy. Just wait it out and then we can leave together." Steve placed his empty glass on the side table as he turned to face Billy._

_"What, you think he won't find me here?" Billy asked bitterly, taking another gulp from the bottle of whiskey, holding it out of Steve's reach when the brunette reached out for it. "I told you, the only reason I hadn't already left was because I didn't want you to have to go to the fuckin' funeral alone. You knew I was leaving right after_."

_"Dustin's barely been in the ground for an hour, Billy. If you're so worried about my emotional fucking well being about his god damned funeral, maybe you should hang around longer than the ceremony." Steve growled, surging forward to pull the whiskey away from Billy. Billy watched him with sad eyes, sighing as he shook his head._

_"If I stay here, you're going to have to go to another fucking funeral. Do you get that? If my dad finds out I'm with you he will literally kill me. Besides, Pretty Boy. I told you not to get attached; I'm no good for you and I'm doing you a favor by leaving." Billy placed his hand on Steve's thigh, squeezing slightly over his suit pants. "You can go back to how things were before. Now that The Gates closed and I'm leaving, you can work on you like you always said you wanted to. You won't have to worry about my stupid ass."_

_"How am I supposed to just go back to how things were before after I got Dustin killed, huh? How do you think I should go about that?" Steve growled, pushing Billy's hand off his leg._

_"That wasn't your fault. You know that wasn't your fault. You did everything you could to get him out of that fucking tunnel. No one blames you that those...those things were faster. This isn't your fault." Billy searched Steve's face before he sighed and climbed to his feet. "You'll realize that eventually. And you'll forget all about me. I know you'll be okay. King Steve is always okay." Billy crossed the room without looking back. He scooped down to pick up his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He paused with his hand on the doorknob when he heard Steve's shoes on the hardwood floor behind him._

_"Billy, if you leave...If you leave I will hate you forever. Do you understand that? I will never forgive you if you leave right now." Billy's hunched his shoulders, his eyes clinched shut as he took a shaky breath._

_"It will probably be better that way, anyway," Billy said finally before he opened the door and left into night. Steve stood shaking with rage until he turned away from the door and slammed his fist into the wall. He curled into a ball on the couch and sobbed himself to sleep._

***  
"Fuck, I missed you Harrington," Billy whispered, crowding into Steve's space were he stood in front of the bunks. Steve flinched before he got his arms between them and pushed Billy away.

"You don't get to say that to me. Not after you just left me there..." Steve grumbled, as Billy caged him in with his arms on either side of Steve's head. Billy searched Steve's face, his brow furrowed in concern.

"What happened to your face?" He asked quietly as he lifted a hand to trace Steve's scar with his fingertip.

"Don't touch me," Steve growled out, elbowing Billy out of his space. "And why do you care?"

"I didn't leave because I didn't care, Stevie," Billy said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture as he backed up so he was pressed against the stone wall. He stood as far away from Steve as he could get, trying to give the panting boy in front of him some room. Steve leaned with he head pressed against the top bunk, the muscles in his shoulders rolling as he tried to calm himself down. "My dad..."

"Yeah, I know. Your dad would have killed you if you had stayed in his house. But I offered you an out. I needed you. And you fucking left an hour after my best friend's funeral. Don't tell me you cared, Billy." Billy sighed, crossing his arms as he leaned his head back against the walls.

"I didn't want you messed up in my shit. Fuck, two years after I left I ended up in here and I can't say that staying in fucking Hawkins would have changed anything. But if I had even the slightest fucking inkling that you were going to go this far off the rails, I never would have left. You had those kids, and Wheeler and Byers. And the Chief and Byers' mom. You had people who loved you and that would keep an eye on you. I thought you'd be okay."

"Yeah, see, that's the thing!" Steve yelled, rounding on Billy and crowding into his space. From where Billy stood, he could see the manic glint in Steve's eyes and he wondered if that's what made Nancy get the restraining order. If that was the last thing she saw before the accident. "The kids had each other. Nancy and Jonathon had each other. Hop and Joyce had each other. I had no one. No one, Billy! My parents were never fucking home, I couldn't keep the job my dad fucking gave me, and I just...I just wanted everything to go back to how it was before. Before Will went missing and before my life was fucking ruined. Which is hilarious that I thought it was ruined back then because look at me now!"

He pushed away from Billy again, throwing his bedding into place before he scrambled awkwardly onto his bunk. Steve curled into a ball with his back to Billy, his head pounding.

"Steve..." Billy started, taking careful steps towards Steve.

"Just stay away from me," Steve ground out, his teeth clinched.

"See, here's the thing. We're going to be sharing a five by five cell for quite a long time, Princess. 'Cause I've got 15 years left. How long you got?" Steve swallowed thickly, squeezing his eyes shut.

"15-45," he whispered. Billy let out a huff as he flung himself onto his bunk.

"I know I always called you Pretty Boy as a joke. Or at least mostly a joke until...But you won't survive by yourself in here, Steve. Just...just let me look out for you, okay?"

Steve didn't answer. Instead, he curled himself into a tighter ball, wiping furiously at the tears that fell from his eyes. Billy laid on his bed with a battered book, trying to pretend he couldn't hear Steve crying.

  
***  
The gate to their cell slid open just before dinner and Steve followed Billy into the cafeteria. The blonde still tried to make conversation but Steve continued to ignore him, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot as they stood in line for food. Steve wrinkled his nose at the unidentifiable thing placed on his tray. Billy choked out a laugh, a big grin on his face as he lead Steve to a table.

"You get used to it," the blonde explained as he rolled his sleeves up and picked up his plastic fork. "It really doesn't taste that bad."

"Not sure I believe you," Steve mumbled, letting what he thought was mashed potatoes slide off his spoon. He continued to ignore Billy as the blonde continued to talk, discretely pointing out specific inmates.

"Who's this beautiful specimen, Hargrove? You holdin' out on us?" A voice called, and Steve flinched as a larger Latino man slammed his tray down on the table across from him. "Hi, Bambi. Aren't you a site for sore eyes."

"This is Harrington, Lopez. We went to high school together. He's off limits." Billy raised a brow as Lopez walked his fingers across the table and tried to grab Steve's wrist. Billy slammed his fist down on the table causing everyone around them to jump. A guard in the corner started walking towards their table but stopped once he realized it was Billy. "What did I just say, Lopez? He's. Off. Limits."

"Jesus, I got it, I got it. You always get the pretty ones, don't you Hargrove? Just ain't fair." Steve swallowed down a wave of nausea as he continued to stare at his tray. Billy and Lopez continued to bicker as the tablet filled up around them. A few of the guys nodded at Steve in greeting, but he didn't acknowledge any of them; instead focusing on playing with his food. He didn't look up until he felt Billy's elbow dig into his ribs.

"You've gotta eat," Billy murmured quietly, moving closer so Steve could hear him over the loud voices in the cafeteria. "It's not going to get any better and you're already a fuckin' twig." Steve glared back at him but Billy just sighed. "Just eat _something_ , okay? You don't have to eat all of it. Just something." Steve glared some more, not breaking eye contact as he shoveled a big spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. Billy swallowed a laugh, his blue eyes shining. "Was that so hard?"

Steve had only been able to choke down a couple more bites and Billy eventually stopped fighting him on it. He followed Billy as they dumped their trays and Billy lead him to the showers.

"Stay close, you understand?" Billy mumbled, tossing a towel to Steve as the entered the room. Steve hesitated as Billy started slipping out of his jumpsuit, unhooking his ID badge before throwing them both in a shelf near by. "You only get three jumpsuits a week, so I'd keep that one for now since you've had it on for all of three hours," he said, twirling his fingers to indicate that Steve should start moving.

"Uh...they made us shower on the way in. I'm good for now. I'm just going to go back to...back to the cell." He started to back out of the bathroom, stopping when Billy grabbed his wrist.

"Do you think that's a good idea?" Billy asked, his brows furrowed as he searched Steve's face.

"I'm fine," Steve huffed, pulling his hand free as he hurried out of the room. He walked quickly, keeping his gaze down as he approached the cell area and found himself at their cell faster than he had thought possible. He pulled the new toothbrush Wood had given him with his bedding out of the package and went to the small sink in the back of the cell. Stupidly he stood with his back to the door and didn't hear the footsteps behind him until it was too late.

"Ya know, after three years, I always knew Hargrove was a selfish bastard. But the fact that's he's trying to keep you all to himself. Hmm, that just can't do, can it baby?" Steve spat out his toothpaste, whipping around with only a toothbrush in his hand. Lopez stood leaning against the door of his cell with three of his crew keeping guard behind him.

"Stay away from me," he said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. He squared up to the man, planting his feet as high school Billy's voice echoed in his brain.

"I just want to welcome you to the neighborhood, baby. Show you what a real mans like." Lopez took a menacing step forward, boxing Steve into the corner. Steve fought back and drove his elbow into Lopez's ribs and his knee between the guy's legs. Lopez groaned and blindly grabbed Steve's arm, his grip so tight Steve knew it would bruise, but Steve shook lose. He pushed Lopez away just as Billy fought his way through the crowd.

"What the fuck, Lopez?" Billy growled, grabbing the guy by his hair and walking him out of the cell. "I told you to stay the fuck away from him. Be sure you do." Billy stood with his hands on his hips and watched as the group ran back to their own cell. Two of the younger inmates walked with Lopez held up between them. Finally he turned back to Steve who had slid to the floor, his arms wrapped around his head. "You okay?"

"My fucking head is killing me," Steve mumbled as he rocked back in forth. Billy held out his hand to pull Steve to his feet.

"Want me to get a guard? See if you can go to the infirmary?" Billy asked. He grunted as Steve elbowed past him and climbed to his top bunk.

"I'm fine. I just get these since-." He cut himself off but gestured to the scar crossing his forehead. Billy bit his lip, his brow furrowed in worry. "I said I'm fine. Look, Billy. I don't want your help, okay? I can handle myself. We have to share this fucking cell, but you need to leave me alone. Whatever we had before? It's done. Just 'cause we're in fuckin' prison doesn't mean we need to start again."

Billy watched the manic look cross Steve's eyes again and he swallowed any argument he had.

"Fine. But just know I'm here, okay? If you need me. I'm here." Billy climbed into his bed as the warning lights flashed and the gate to their cell slid shut. Just as the lights switched off for good for the night, he couldn't pretend he didn't hear the sob Steve tried to stifle. But for once he followed directions and stayed away.

***  
They had just returned to their cell following breakfast when Officer Wood and Officer Althouse approached the gate. Althouse carried a set of shackles and prison belt.

"Open on three!" Wood called to the man in the command center, gesturing for Steve. "Harrington, lets go." Steve stepped out of the cell and Althouse started to slip on the belt as Wood yelled for the gate to close.

"Where are you taking him?" Billy asked, his big hands wrapped around the bars of the gate.

"None of your business, Hargrove." Steve kept his head down as the the cuffs were wrapped around his wrists and ankles. Once satisfied, the guards started to lead him out of the concourse to the medical bay. He pretended he didn't hear Billy yelling after him.

Wood slid a key into the door that lead to the medical bay and pushed him into an interview room. There was a chair bolted to the floor in the far side of the room with a fastener similar to a dog leash on the chair and another hook on the floor. Steve was pushed into the chair and Althouse clipped the hook on the chair to the chain belt around his waist and the chain between his legs was bolted to the floor. "No funny business when the docs in here, got it Harrington? We're going to be just outside that door the whole time."

Steve nodded, swallowing thickly as the men left the room. He curled in on himself, stretching his hands as far as possible in an attempt to smooth his hair over his scar. He couldn't stop his fidgeting, the sounds of the chains rattling ringing through the room. He tried to move forward to the edge of the chair but grunted when the hook held him in place. Steve was just starting to get antsy when a small knock came from the hall and the door swung open to reveal a tiny redheaded woman holding a thick chart in one hand and a tray with small paper cups in the other.

"Good morning, Mr. Harrington," the woman said, sitting down in at the desk on the clear opposite side of the room. "My name is Dr. Potter and I'm going to be your psychiatrist while you are here. Have you ever seen a psychiatrist before? Or a therapist?"

"No," Steve whispered, licking his lips as he followed her every move with his eyes.

"I guess that shouldn't be a surprise. Now, I've read through your file and your court proceedings. I have interviews from the doctors at the hospital following the accident. I believe I have a pretty good understanding as to what happened, but I want to hear what you think." Steve stared at the shackles around his ankles, not answering. "Not talking to me isn't going to make this go away, Mr. Harrington. Why don't you tell me what happened in your own words." Steve swallowed thickly before answering with a monotone voice.

"I just wanted things to go back to how they were before. I wanted my girlfriend back and my old friends and I didn't want to know who these fucking kids I was suddenly supposed to take care of were. But she...She'd started dating someone else. She said I didn't get it, that I didn't understand why I needed to move on. She...She said I was scaring her and then her dad made her get a restraining order. I know she didn't want to, I know she still cared about me. I know it was all her dad's idea to get it and send me away. I was trying to show her we could still be together and things could be like they were before. I was just trying to get her to understand when the accident happened. I didn't mean to hurt her." Dr. Potter nodded, scribbling notes in a legal pad on her desk that Steve couldn't read.

"I believe you didn't mean to hurt her, Steve." He glanced up as this was the first time she had called him by his first name. "But you drugged her, tied her up and put her in the trunk of your car. That seems more than just trying to convince her to try again."

"I just needed to get Nance away from her dad and Jonathon and those people who were telling her not to love me. I just needed to get her away from them for a little while and then I could convince her we were meant for each other. I was trying to take her to my parents lake house and when I came to get her she started screaming and I couldn't let the neighbors hear 'cause then they'd call the cops and I already had the restraining order. So I just gave her something to knock her out just so I could get her to the lake house. I put her in the trunk 'cause I was afraid she'd wake up and try to jump out of the moving car...It wasn't to hurt her. I...the accident wasn't supposed to happen! It was an accident."

"You had cocaine in your system and your blood alcohol content was almost three times the legal limit. There were no other cars in the area when you spun out and hit that tree. But Nancy was dead before that, wasn't she?" Dr. Potter twirled her pen between her fingers as she studied Steve's face. "You had injected her with high levels of Ativan and then duct taped her mouth shut. She started to OD and then choked on her own vomit."

"I didn't mean to," Steve whispered, his face scrunching up in shame as hot tears dripped down his face.

"I didn't think you did," Dr. Potter said, studying his face. "But the fact still remains the same that you did and someone died, Mr. Harrington. I believe this is related to a psychotic break that may have been brought on by events that had happened in the years leading up to the accident."

Steve choked out a bitter laugh, trying to wipe the tears off his face. He let out a grunt when the belt kept him from being able to reach without bending awkwardly.

"If it was some kind of psychotic fucking break, then why did the judge throw out my insanity plea?" he spat out, sniffing against the congestion his tears caused.

"Because you still knew it was wrong, Mr. Harrington. You knew this was something you should not being doing and you did anyway to fulfill your own needs. That's why you are here and not under a psychiatric hold."

Steve ducked his head as his eyes burned with more tears. Dr. Potter continued to scribble on her legal pad, glancing at him every few moments. Finally she sighed, dropping her pen and leaning her chin on her her steepled hands.

"We're going to get to the bottom of all this, Steve," she said, her voice gentler than anyone had been to him in months. "We have your entire sentence to work through it. For now, I'm going to leave our visits to once a week. But we may do more than that should I feel you need it." Steve tracked her steps as she stood from her desk and approached the tray she had been carrying earlier. "I am going to start you on something to take off the edge."

"What is it?" Steve asked, his brow furrowed in confusion as she held out the smaller cup to him. When he tipped it, he could see two pink and white capsules and a red tablet.

"A mood stabilizer and an antipsychotic," she said simply, cocking a brow at him. "I can't make a definite diagnosis after one visit, but I do have my suspicions. This is not negotiable, Mr. Harrington." Steve let out a shaky breath as he ducked his head closer to his hands to tip the pills into his mouth. He took the paper cup of water she offered him and chased the pills down. "Very good. You will report to the nursing station every morning for you dose. Don't make the guards chase you down."

With that she left the room, only pausing to murmur something to Wood on her way out. The guards entered and unlocked the restraints holding him to the chair. Althouse and Wood stood on either side of him and hauled him to his feet by a grip on his elbows. Steve stumbled over the chain between his feet, sniffing uncomfortably. He kept his head down, not noticing how quickly they had made it back to his cell until Wood was yelling for the command center to open the gate.

Billy immediately climbed to his feet, watching with a furrowed brow as Althouse unlocked the shackles on Steve's wrists and ankles. He studied Steve's face as he stepped into the cell, taking in his red rimmed eyes. He reached out for Steve's arm as the gate slid shut but couldn't keep in the sigh when Steve flinched away from him.

"Where did they take you?" Billy hissed, standing with his hands on his hips as Steve crawled into his bunk.

"How do I get a book?" Steve asked, ignoring Billy's question as he stared at the ceiling.

"I can show you the library during rec," Billy said, rolling his eyes. "Now answer my fucking question. Where did they take you? Why were you crying?"

"Court appointed psychiatrist, and none of your business," Steve ground out, closing his eyes.

"Psychiatrist?" Billy asked, his brow furrowed further in question.

"Yup," Steve said, popping the 'p.' "I'm not crazy enough for an insanity plea but crazy enough the judge said I have to see someone at least once a week."

"Are you gonna tell me what you did?" Billy asked, leaning with his forearms on Steve's bunk as he studied his face.

"As if Max didn't tell you," Steve said, rolling his eyes.

"She didn't tell me everything. Just that Wheeler had a restraining order against you and you broke it and there was a car accident. She didn't seem to have many details..." Billy trailed off.

"Yeah, I'm not talking about this with you. Just leave me alone, Billy." Billy sighed, pushing himself away from Steve's before lowering himself onto his own bunk.

"Whatever you say, Princess," he mumbled, pulling his book out from under his pillow to kill time until lunch.

 


	3. Chapter 3

_The plan had always been to go back to California as soon as he turned eighteen. Sure, Billy had contemplated waiting for graduation for no other reason than to make Steve Fucking Harrington proud. Maybe they could have left after graduation and ran away from all their problems. Between his dad, Steve's absent parents, and the shit with the Lab, no one would blame them._

_The plan changed the night of his eighteenth birthday when Dustin Henderson got torn apart by a Demodog in the tunnels underneath Hawkins and Billy had had to physically drag a screaming and thrashing Steve to safety._

_Sometimes when he closed his eyes, Billy could still hear both boy's screams; Dustin begging for his mom while Steve begged for Dustin._

_Billy had drug Max home shortly after dawn, not wanting to leave until Joyce had plunged a needle into Steve's arm after his fifth round of hysterics. It was the same stuff Max had jabbed into Billy's neck and he knew it would work. Mind you, he still didn't know where it came from._

_It was early on a Tuesday morning, hours before the sun came up, when the step-siblings had climbed in through Billy's window, trying to keep Neil from hearing them. Unfortunately for Billy, Neil had been waiting up. He was sitting in the dark on the foot of Billy's bed, just waiting for him to show his face._

_Billy had already been convinced he was going to die that night in those tunnels and what ever adrenaline he had left had dispersed long ago. The last thing he remembered before he lost consciousness was his head hitting the door frame, Neil digging his steel toe boot into his ribs and Max screaming._

_When he finally woke up, Billy had packed everything of importance; his mom's record player, his copy of The Shinning and The Stand, the shoe box that held a stash of pictures from his childhood and the money he'd been collecting that had been hid under his bed. He'd taken off for Steve's, promising he'd stay until the funeral, not a day longer._

_Looking back on it, Billy knew he fucked up leaving that night. Steve had just told him he loved him for the first time three weeks prior. They had gotten so close, Steve patching him up every time his dad roughed him up and Billy holding Steve while he slept to keep the nightmares away. Billy knew Steve was going to have a hard time but Billy couldn't stay. It would only lead to Steve or himself getting killed. Or both of them. It was 1985, they had to be smart about things._

_It had already been dark when Billy left Steve's that night, a calling card with Dustin's smiling face in his wallet. He drove through the night, crossing the boarder into Chicago, finding a trashy hotel to stay in for the night. He debated leaving his money in the trunk of the Camaro, but something felt wrong about it. Instead, he shoved a majority of it in his front pocket wanting to keep it close._

_After he got a room, Billy had wandered down the road looking for a bar. He found one grungy enough to not card him and started drinking through the night. He hadn't been able to sleep since the night of the tunnels, and he knew that if he tried to sleep that night he was only going to be able to see Steve's broken face as he walked out of the house._

_Billy was just making his way through his fifth bottle of beer when a gorgeous man leaned up against the bar next to him. He was tall with thick brunette hair that stood up just a bit better than Steve's. He had brown eyes, too, but they were nothing compared to Steve's Bambi eyes._

_"Hey, man," the stranger said over the music the jukebox was playing. "You know, it's not good to drink alone..."_

_"Then drink with me," Billy said, running his tongue over his lower teeth in the way that always got to Steve. Five beers turned to seven and was followed by a vodka shot or two. Billy's head was swimming as he lead the stranger out of the bar and back to his hotel_.

_"My names Brandon," the guy had whispered into Billy's ear as he pushed Billy against the closed door._

_"I don't care," Billy growled back, forcing the man to the bed._

_It was a quick, rough fuck, nothing like it was with Steve. And that was exactly what Billy needed. He had drifted off to sleep with the man's come drying between his legs and when he woke up Brandon was gone._

_And so was almost all of Billy's money._

_He couldn't believe how stupid he had been and now he was stranded in Illinois for the foreseeable future. He spent the next couple days sleeping in his car, going from garage to garage looking for a job to help replace his stolen funds. It was in that process that he met Stan._

_Stan owned a small garage on Summit that mostly did oil changes and small time jobs. It wasn't perfect, but it would work for Billy. Stan offered him the small apartment above the shop after he noticed that Billy had been sleeping in his car. He always let Billy work overtime whenever it was available and was always inviting him over to his place where he lived with his sister for dinner._

_It was during one of those dinners that he asked Billy to follow him down to the basement. At the bottom of the stairs was a group of people cutting and separating massive amounts of cocaine. Stan scooped up a brick and held it in his hands as he smiled at Billy._

_"You're a charmer, Hargrove. You think you can put that mouth of yours to good work and move some stuff for me? I'll pay ya good money." Billy studied the man for a long time before peeling the brick out of his hand. He weighed it between his own hands as he thought. Finally Billy looked up with his smile that Steve always compared to a shark._

_"Where do I start_?"

***  
Steve followed Billy back to their cell, standing as close as he could without letting Billy know he was staying close. He kept his head down, the orange of his jumpsuit making his head hurt.

"Harrington! For the fifth time, you're to go to the med station before breakfast, not after," Officer Wood yelled, grabbing Steve's arm before he could get to his cell. "You're on your way to a trip back to the Medical Bay if you don't stop making me chase you down to take your meds."

"Oh, right," Steve grunted, trying not to wrench his arm out of Wood's grasp. He'd been avoiding the med station for a reason, obviously. He wasn't crazy.

"Let's go, Harrington. Hargrove! Meeting is in 10. Do I need to escort you to everywhere you need to go, too?"

"No, sir," Billy said with a smirk, leaning against the open bars of their cell. Steve sent him a glare as Wood dragged him off.

As much as he fought it the first couple years he had been locked up, the Narcotics Anonymous meetings Bily was forced to go to were almost the highlight of his week. He still thought it was bullshit because he had only ever used the shit that night he'd been arrested and he wasn't an addict. But supposedly these kind of meetings could help children of addicts, too, and Neil Hargrove had been as big of a drunk as they came.

"Anyone want to start?" The young priest that came into the facility to run the meeting every week asked. Even after all this time, Billy still couldn't remember the guys name and it had been too long to ask at this point.

"Uh, I can?" Billy said, chewing on his lips. The priest nodded and Billy leaned forward with his elbows on his knees. "I, uh...I used to see this guy in high school." A couple of the guys snickered but no one really said anything. They all knew Billy was gay.

"We got involved in some fucked up shit; wrapped up in the Hawkins Lab before it got taken down for good in '85. And we saw some really bad shit, like people died bad. And after everything went down, I left town. Shit was really coming to a head with my old man and I just had to get out."

"That's commendable, William," the priest said, squinting at Billy. "Knowing when things are too much is a big part of the battle."

"But apparently when I left, things got worse for him. He never really knew how to handle all this shit and when I left and that kid died, he just shut down. Drinking all the time, never sleeping. He ended up stalking his ex until he ended up killing her. And now he's my fucking cell mate," Billy finished, chewing on his thumb nail.

"That sounds like it's stressful for you, William," the priest said, and Billy could feel his eye twitching at being called 'William.' His dad always called him that when he was real worked up.

"It's...No, I want to see him. It's just he's so mad at me for abandoning him just like everyone else did. I don't think he's even put it together that I'm in a fucking Indiana State Prison instead of out in California like I told him. How am I supposed to say I never got further than Chicago and I still didn't come back to check on you?"

"How does this stress make you feel, William?"

"I don't want to go shoot smack in my arm or put blow up my nose, if that's what you're asking. For the thousandth time, I'm not an addict."

"Right, right," the priest said, giving Billy a small time. "Now, how do you think you should approach this situation?"

"I'm going to ignore it until it goes away," Billy said with a shrug and then he refused to say another word the entire meeting.

***  
Steve was laying with a pillow over his head when Billy to back to the cell. Billy stood in the doorway for a moment or two before sighing and entering the cell.

"What are you doing, Pretty Boy?" Billy asked, itching for a cigarette he couldn't have until rec that afternoon.

"Don't call me that," Steve mumbled, his voice muffled from the pillow. "And my head hurts."

"Your head always hurts," Billy said in response. "Did you tell the nurse when you took your meds?"

"Yeah, not having this conversation with you. Stop pretending like you care." Steve rolled over, the pillow slipping off his head to glare at Billy.

"Did you ever think that maybe I do care?" Billy asked, standing with his hands on his hips. Steve squinted his eyes at Billy but didn't respond. Finally he sighed.

"What meeting did you have?" He asked, watching as Billy slipped his arms out of his jumpsuit and pulling it down to his waist where he tied the arms to keep it up.

"You have your court order, I have mine," Billy said, grabbing his book before he flopped tiredly on his bed.

"Sooo like a psychiatrist?" Steve asked, hanging off the top bunk to look down at Billy.

"No, NA. Well, they only offer AA here but it's basically the same thing I think."

"Oh...is that why your in here?"

"As if you didn't already know," Billy said, rolling his eyes as he flipped the page.

"I don't, really...I haven't talked to Max since..."Steve trailed off, not really remembering the last time he'd spoke with any of the Party prior to his trial.

"Well what's your favorite line since you've been in here? 'We're not having this conversation?' Because I'm not having it with you. Especially not when you haven't told me while your in here." Steve furrowed his brown in a glare again before rolling onto his back with a huff. So started another week of silence between them.

***  
Steve grunted as he was pushed onto the chair in front of the visitor table, the chain of the handcuffs clattering against the metal table. Hopper sat on the other side, an unimpressed look on his face covering the worry.

"Hey kid," Hopper said, watching as Steve folded in on himself. He had only been there two months and to Hopper he already looked more run down and broken. A dark purple bruise stretched up his jawline that Hopper didn't mention. "How you holding up?"

"Fine," Steve mumbled, intertwining his hands and squeezing tightly.

"How's it going with the shrink? You given them anymore trouble with the meds?" Steve glared at him before looking back down at his hands.

"They called you?" Steve grunted.

"Considering your dad wants nothing to do with you, I'm your emergency contact. They have to put your stupid ass in a psych hold cause you won't take your meds, I'm the one they call."

"I don't need those stupid pills," Steve growled, his teeth clenched. "I'm not crazy."

"You wanna tell Nancy that?" Hopper asked, sighing when Steve flinched. "I know you think your okay, but you need to listen to the professionals. Take your damns meds. Holding your ass for a day last time was just a warning. You wont like it when they start shovin' them down your throat."

"Fine," Steve said, squeezing his hands tighter. "Are you just here to lecture me?"

"No, just wanted to let you know they're gonna take you for your three month scans later this week," Hopper said, scanning Steve's face as he looked up. His scar looked angry against his pale skin.

"I still have to do those?" Steve asked, his nose wrinkled in confusion.

"Every three months until a year, then once a year for a couple years. Your last one was a month before your sentencing, remember? This will be the nine month visit." Hopper leaned forward, his chin resting on his fist.

"Why does it matter if I'm in here?"

"Because you had a traumatic brain injury and were in a coma for two weeks, that's why, Harrington. You still getting the headaches? Sensitivity to light? Trouble finding your words?"

Steve glared at Hopper before sighing. "Yes. The words aren't as hard now. Just when my head really hurts."

"And that's exactly why I'm pulling all the strings to make sure you keep getting those scans until we're sure you're not still bleeding up there some place. You're not on death row, they can't deny you standard medical care." Steve sighed, before nodding his head slightly.

"Good. I'm not allowed to be there or know what day, that's how people plan break outs," Hopper said while rolling his eyes. "But it should be sometime this week. They'll just do a couple blood tests, a cat scan and another EEG. You'll meet with Dr. Jackson. Then you'll be good until a year. Now, Joyce and I put some money in your account. Have they talked to you about a job yet?"

"Potter's gotta clear me first and she hasn't yet," Steve mumbled, shifting uncomfortably.

"Okay, we can keep putting some stuff in there until she does," Hopper said, nodding at one of the guards to come get Steve. "Mrs. Henderson said to tell you she's thinking of you. She said you can add her to your list if you want."

"I don't want her coming here," Steve said, his head shooting up. "Not like this."

"That's your decision, kid. That's okay. Now, I gotta go, you be good." Steve rolled his eyes as the guard pulled him to his feet.

"Bye, Hop." Steve kept his head ducked as the guards led him back to his cell. Billy was standing outside the gate when he got there, another guard putting a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. Steve racked his brain trying to remember if he saw Max in the visiting room and came up with nothing. He really needed to start noticing his surroundings. Billy nodded at him with a wink as he was lead away. The notion made Steve's skin crawl.

***  
"You're not Max," Billy said as he sunk into the chair in front of Hopper. Hopper snorted with an eye roll.

"Nice to see you, Hargrove. How you doing, kid?" the chief asked, studying Billy's face.

"You can drop the bullshit, Hop. We both know you're not here to talk about me. I'm assuming you're the one who pulled the strings to get him put in with me?" Billy asked, digging the palm of his hands into his tired eyes.

"Yeah, I did. And judging by the bruising on his face, I clearly was wrong about you taking care of him in here," Hopper responded as he tried to keep his voice light and airy.

"He wants nothing to do with me," Billy said with a sigh. "I can't do anymore for him if the guy won't let me. He hates me and I can't say I blame him. I left."

"Yeah, you did. Just when we all thought you'd changed..." Billy squinted at the man before letting out a huff of amusement.

"I gave you no reason to think I'd changed. When I left, I thought you all were going to watch out for him and take care of him. He was one of yours long before he was mine. I had to leave, but I thought he had "family" you all were always going on about!" Billy growled.

"We tried!" Hopper yelled back, dropping his voice when a guard looked their way. "He kept pushing us away and by the time I noticed how bad it was, the Wheeler's already had the restraining order against him. Two months later Nancy was dead. Every time Joyce and I tried to talk to him, he said he was fine. Every. Time. He said he was fine; even after all the DUI's and times I had to haul him away from Nancy's house and field calls from the cops at Purdue, he always said he was fine."

"Well obviously we were both wrong, because look where Stevie Boy is now. Jesus," Billy said, shaking his head as leaned back in his chair.

"You could have stayed. Or fuck, Billy, you could have came back? We all thought you were back in sunny Cali-For-Ni-A. Did you even make it back there?"

"You know why I left. Every day I spent in that one horse town was just daring Neil Hargrove to kill me," Billy huffed, shaking his head.

"Too bad you didn't know a cop who could help you, huh?" Hopper asked sarcastically. "You could have stayed at Joyce's. You could have stayed at Steve's. Fuck, you could have stayed at my cabin until graduation and you two could have left together. You didn't have to leave within an hour of use burying Dustin."

"You fucking knew what was happening in that house you did nothing. Yeah, you can say you could have given me all these outs when I was seventeen, but the truth of the matter is you never did shit, Hopper. Even that week between the tunnels and the funeral, all I could think was that he was going to find me at Steve's and finally do something about his faggot son. That he was going to kill me and kill Steve because we were some fucking abomination. You can talk all this shit, but the fact of the matter is I did what I had to do to keep both him and myself safe. It's not my fault you dropped the ball."

Both men sat on their side of the table, panting slightly as they tried to keep their voices down. Finally Hopper sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I don't want to fight with you, Billy," he said. Billy grunted but nodded in response. Hopper repeated his earlier ignored question. "Did you ever make it back to California?"

"No," Billy said bitterly, ducking his head. "Never made it any further west than Chicago. Got robbed that first night and was too proud to go back with my tail between my legs after the way I left. Like I said, I thought you all were going to take care of him and that this was for the best..."

"I looked up your file," Hopper said, not the least bit ashamed of snooping. "That kid, was he yours?"

"Nah, friend's sister's kid. It was an accident." Billy said, staring down at his hands.

"Were you living in Gary this whole time?" Billy shook his head, looking up at Hopper.

"I was in the city for awhile until a lot of our crew got busted. My man Stan lived with his little sister in Gary and when he got locked up she couldn't afford the rent so I moved in with her to help with money and the kid. It had only been a couple months until I got arrested." Hooper nodded, worrying his lip between his teeth.

"Listen, kid. I know you think Steve hates you and that he has every right to. But you just gotta wait him out. Just...just try to keep him from getting his ass handed to him for now? It'll get better." Billy rolled his eyes but nodded. "I told him this, but it goes for you, too. Serve your time, and I'll help you get back on your feet when you get out, okay? Do you have anyone coming to see you, putting money in your account?"

"Yeah, Max comes once every couple months. Susan's been putting money in my account when I need it. I'm good. But, um, thanks, Hop. I do really appreciate it."

***

The sound of echoing voices in the showers hit Billy's ears as he got ready for lights out. Steve had been gone for awhile and the thought made Billy's stomach clinch. He hesitated at the doorway of their cell, squinting at the bathroom door before he sighed pushing off the wall. He tried to keep his pace casual even as the voices got louder. He rounded the corner into the bathroom, his canvas shoes sliding on the damp tile as he came to a stop.

Steve had pressed his naked body into the corner as far as he could get, his arms held out as if he was calming a wild animal. Lopez and several other larger inmates had him cornered, leering at him as the yelled their cat calls at him.

"Those lips will look so good choking on my cock, won't they Bambi," one of them said, tracing his fingers down Steve's arm. Billy could hear the whimper Steve let out from across the room.

"Forget those lips," some one else said, licking his lips. "I wanna see that pretty face while he rides my dick until he can't walk straight for days."

"Leave me alone," Steve grunted, slapping a hand that was reaching out for him.

"Aw, come on, baby. Don't play hard to get," Lopez sing-singed, grabbing Steve's wrist in a bruising grips and dragging him out of the corner. His other hand wrapped into Steve's hair, pulling forcefully.

"No! Let go! Stop touching me," Steve yelled back, his bare feet sliding on the wet tile as he fought to get free.

"Hey!" Billy yelled from the door, stalking into the room. "You heard him, let him go, Lopez."

"Just walk away, Hargrove," one of the other guys said. "This don't involve you."

"Yeah, see, I'd love to fucking do that, Brown, but you see, I told you all that Harrington was off limits. And here you all are, not fucking listening to me. And I'm sure you all remember what happened when Sampson didn't listen to me?"

Billy had spent three weeks in solitary after he'd beaten his first cell mate that kept sitting on Billy's bed and using his stuff even after Billy told him not to. Sampson was still walking with a limp when he was released.

"And what if I'm not afraid of you, Hargrove?" Lopez asked, taking a step closer to Billy, a death grip still on Steve's wrist.

"Oh yeah, Lopez?" Billy asked, his tongue flicking out over his bottom lip. Steve paused where he was trying to wiggle out of Lopez's grip. The look on Billy's face reminded him of that night so many years previous where Steve had thought he was going to die on the Byers' kitchen floor. "You think you're not afraid of me? I'm gonna ask you again after this!"

Billy planted his feet, his fist swinging out and landing soundly into Lopez's nose. The man grunted, losing his grip on Steve's wrist as both hands flew to cradle his bleeding nose. Steve stumbled away, stooping to grab his dropped towel before sprinting from the room. Knowing that Steve was safe, Billy squared up to Brown, punching him in the jaw before ducking the swinging arm of one of the other inmates. He threw one last swing at Lopez, a huge smile on his face as the guy dropped to the floor.

Billy wanted to do more, his fists itching for a fight after so many days of calm. But he knew if he stuck around his ass was going back to solitary and he would be no help to Steve there. So as soon as he saw Lopez was done, Billy ducked out of the bathroom, hiding his bloody knuckles in the pockets of his uniform as he passed the guards who were running towards the room.

Billy slid into their cell, watching as Steve tried to pull on the sweatpants he slept in with shaky hands. He froze when he heard Billy's footsteps, turning to face the blonde with wide eyes.

"You okay?" Billy asked, taking slow steps towards Steve as the boy pulled on his t-shirt.

"I'm fine," Steve mumbled, as he pushed past Billy to climb into his bunk. Billy frowned, furrowing is brow as Steve hissed when he put weight on his wrist to pull himself up. Billy reached forward, gently taking Steve's wrist, sighing at the bruises already forming. Steve flinched, pulling his arm away. "Don't touch me."

"Sorry," Billy said, taking a step back. "Shit like that's gonna keep happening, Steve. I know you don't trust me, but I can keep you safe in here. You've just gotta let me."

"I don't want your help. Why would I trust you now?" Steve growled, rolling so his back was to Billy. Billy sighed, sitting with his head in his hands as the gate to their cell started to slide close. He swallowed thickly before laying back on his pillow, his arms crossed over his chest waiting for the lights to go out. He knew Steve was still awake, could hear his quiet gasping breathes as he tried to hide his sobs.

"I never made it back to California," Billy started quietly, licking his lips. "I never made it any farther than Chicago; got robbed that first night and had to stick around to make some money. The plan was to still head back west once I had some money, but I never left. And I knew I could go back to Hawkins, that I could go crawling back and get you and the kids to forgive me, thought maybe you'd take me back even though I left like an asshole, but I was too proud. Thought you coulda done better than me. Had I known how bad...how bad things were I would have came back in a heart beat." Billy cleared his throat a couple times before continuing.

"I started working at this garage, became friends with the owner. He gave me a place to stay, invited me into his family. And after a couple months he invited me into his crew. He had this crazy coke operation, was the biggest supplier in the Southside of Chicago. Stan said he needed a charmer, and well, you know how I am. I was a natural at it." Billy heard Steve's bed creak and looked up to see the boy looking at him over the edge of the bed.

"I'd been working with them for about a year and a half and doing real good for myself. I was sending money home to Susan and Max, trying to help them get enough money to get away from my dad. Maybe start a college fund for Max. I had a pretty nice apartment in the city. Things were going good. And then most of our group was busted, Stan included. The only reason I wasn't there was because I was taking these welding classes up by the Navy Pier and wasn't in the shop when the Feds came in. I...I was trying to have a back-up plan, you know? In case shit went south I wanted to have a legit job.

"Anyway, I was the only one that didn't get taken down in that bust. And Stan, he had a little sister that he lived with in Gary; it's close enough to the city, but just far enough into Indiana that it was a good get away. Anyway, Cassie had a kid, he was like three or four? And she couldn't afford to pay the rent on their house and feed the kid, so I offered to move in with her. Help pay the bills, watch the kid when she had to work doubles. The garage I had been working on was just the front for the coke so I had to find something else, but I made it work. And I was slowly but surely building Stan's empire back up; I had to go to different suppliers, started bringing in younger guys to move the shit. I was good at it. But we kept the supply in the basement, some of the overflow in my room.

"Cassie got called in to cover someone else's shift at the diner and asked me to watch Cody. And so I did, no big deal, I'd done it a thousand times before. Except we were getting ready to move this new product that no one really knew much about and I'd offered to try it. And you know, I never used any of our shit; that's like drug dealer 101-never get high on your own supply 'cause that's how you lose your profit. Fuck, I never do anything stronger than pot and even that I hate. Remember how paranoid it made me?" Steve hummed above him and Billy could feel a small smile stretching across his face.

"So I'm supposed to be watching Cody, but instead I got high. I had just kind of planted him in front of the tv and went down into the basement and wasn't really watching him. And apparently he got in my room because I forgot to lock it. We had all these ecstasy tablets we were gonna start moving and I can totally see how a four year old would think those are candy. And he ate a lot of them. He must have knocked something over when he went down 'cause I heard it downstairs. Went running up to check on him and he was seizing on my floor, all foaming at the mouth. It was awful. So I stuck my fingers down his throat to get him to throw up while I called 911. They rushed Cody off to the hospital and threw me in the back of a cop car."

"Did he die?" Steve whispered, his wide eyes studying Billy's face in the dim light.

"Nah, he made it. From what I heard he's a perfectly healthy seven year old with no lasting damage. The fact that he made it helped me with sentencing. And so did the fact that Cassie apparently had drugs in her system when they tested her and had a stash of her own in her room. But the fact that I had coke in my system and felony amounts in the house, didn't. My judge apparently has a soft spot for addicts, though, wants to see them get help rather than rot in prison forever, so he gave me a pretty good deal. 18-30 years for child endangerment, possession, second degree manslaughter since I almost killed the kid. Required to go to meetings at least once a week, have to keep it up when I get out. But I don't mind them. They help, I think. Helped me work through a lot of my shit."

"Why are you telling me this?" Steve whispered, his brow furrowed and Billy stopped himself from reaching out and smoothing his fingers over the angry scar covering Steve's forehead.

"Because I want you to trust me again. I want you to understand that I never stopped thinking about you. That I left before things could get bad between us, before my dad could kill either of us or before I spiraled out and hurt you. Because that's what I was heading for; too big for my own skin and just looking for my next fight. I thought I was helping you, but if I thought for a moment that you were doing this bad, Steve, I would have came back. I never checked in because I didn't want to know how wrong I was. But I never stopped thinking of you."

Steve rolled onto his back, digging the heel of his palms into his eyes. Billy sat up, hugging his knees to his chest as his back pressed into the cement wall.

"I've told you everything, okay?" Billy asked, quietly. "I just want you to know you can trust me. I can keep you safe in here, Steve, just let me. Even if we're never what we were before again, I want to help you. Just...you've just got to let me..." Steve was silent for so long that Billy was worried the boy had fallen asleep. But finally the bed creaked as he rolled over to look at Billy over the edge.

"I'll think about it..."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked it! Comments and kudos are always helpful...
> 
> Hopefully more soon!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter has a whole bunch of medical talk that I'm pretty much making up. Outside of bone marrow transplants that I work with everyday, I don't know shit about anything medical. I do know, though, that they bring prisoners into the hospital through the loading docks and there's a holding cell down there too!

_Steve repeatedly checked the rear view mirror as he sped down Dawson Road. He chewed on his lip as he idly drummed on his steering wheel. He had turned the music up to almost a deafening level to drown out the struggle coming from his trunk._

_Steve couldn’t hear any sirens, couldn’t see any flashing lights, but he knew they were coming. Mrs. Johnson has came outside when Nancy screamed and had made eye contact with him as he pushed her into the trunk of the car. She had called out to her husband inside as Steve had sped out of the driveway and he knew his time was limited._

_He just had to make it to the lake house. The road was hilly and curvy and was a bitch to drive in the summer, let alone in the middle of January when snow still clung to the surface. Steve tightened his grip on the steering wheel as he fish tailed around another curve and flinched when he heard Nancy slid into the side of the trunk over the radio._

_He just had to get Nancy to lake house so they could talk. This way he could get her away from her dad and Johnathon and Mike and everyone else who was trying to turn her against him. They could talk and she would understand how much they needed each other. She was the only one who understood him. The only one who ever understood him more was Billy, and there was no way he’d ever get him back. He just wanted Nancy and for his life to go back to how it was before he ever knew about the Upside Down._

_Steve saw a flash of light out of the corner of his eyes and wiped his head to the left to see if there was someone behind him. As he did so, the Beamer listed wildly to the left._

_“Fuck!” Steve yelled, jerking the wheel to correct it. The car spun wildly before slamming into a large oak tree along the side of the road. The last thing Steve saw before his head went through the windshield was the flashing red and blue lights of a cop car._

_***_

_He felt like he was floating as he started to come to. He couldn’t move, couldn’t figure out where he was. Just on the outside of his consciousness, he could hear a quite conversation that made little sense._

_“I don’t care if he was my son,” a man’s voice said. “After what he did to that girl, we want nothing to do with him. He’s no son of ours.”_

_“Mr. Harrington, I understand that your upset. But I think there had been something wrong with Steve for sometime. If you disown him now, he’s not going to get the help he needs with a public defender.” The gruff voice answering his... his father? Seemed very familiar in his confused state._

“ _It’s too late for that now,” Greg Harrington snapped. “We’re done with all the messes he caused. If he’d been lucky, it would have been him who died, not the poor girl. Don’t contact me about him anymore. He’s not our son.”_

_A door slammed shut and Steve failed to swallow a whimper as the world started to shift more in focus. He could hear a steady beep next to his head that seemed to match his heart rate. He could feel a needle in his arm and he felt cold from the fluids running through him._

_“Steve?” The gruff voice said gently and Steve tried to roll on his side away from the noise. He grunted again when a cold metal ring cut into his wrist keeping him from rolling. He slowly blinked his eyes open, moaning at the light above him and squeezing them shut again. The figure next to the bed leaned over and dimmed the lights. “Sorry about that, kid. Welcome back.”_

_Steve opened his eyes again, wrinkling his nose in confusion when he realized there was a think bandage covering his right eye. He lifted his right hand that was wrapped in a plaster cast and gently traced the bandage from his eye all the way up to around his scalp. The man gently grabbed his hand and pulled it back down to the bed. Steve squinted at the foot of the bed and realized his right leg was also wrapped in a cast and elevated slightly from a bar at the foot of the bed. His back and ribs and hips were all sore and breathing too deeply made the edges of his vision turn black._

_“Do you know where you are, kid?” The man asked, studying Steve’s face._

_Steve scrunched his nose again, opening and closing his mouth as he tried to make the words come out. He was in a hospital, obviously. Why couldn’t he just say it? His response came out in a jumbled, in comprehensible whine. His uncovered eye widened in fear as he stared at the man. The heart monitor next to his bed speed up._

_“Hey, it’s okay. Don’t panic. Steve, you were in an accident and you hit your head pretty bad. You had a lot of bleeding in your brain and the doc said you might have some issues with words for a bit judging on where the bleed is.” Steve swallowed thickly as he nodded his head._

_As the man shifted he saw a name tag clipped to his pocket that said “Hopper” and everything that had happened with the Upside Down and Eleven came flooding back to him. How could he have forgotten Hopper? Steve tried to lift his left hand to rub at his good hand and whimpered when the metal ring of a handcuff cut into his skin._

_“Wha-,” he choked, staring dumbly at the handcuff attached to the bed._

_“I know you can’t really answer me, so just listen, okay? We got a call from Mrs. Johnson that she saw you putting Nancy Wheeler in the trunk of your car two weeks ago. She said it looked like Nancy was unconscious. When Powell found you, you had smashed head-on into the old oak on Dawson Road and put yourself head first through the windshield. Does any of that leading up to the crash sound familiar?” Hopper studied his face as Steve tried to make his mind work._

_“Nan...N-n-Nancy?” He finally stuttered out, not answering Hopper’s question._

_“She didn’t make it, kid,” Hopper said quietly and Steve could feel all the air rush out of him. “It looks like she choked on her own vomit in the trunk before the crash happened.” Steve squeezed his eyes shut as tears ran down his face._

“ _Unfortunately, kid, your under arrest,” Hopper said quietly as he gestured to the handcuff. “Breaking the restraining order, kidnapping, involuntary manslaughter. There was high levels of Ativan in Nancy’s system which we found in your car, adding an assault charge and a possession. They checked your blood when they brought you in, kid. Your alcohol level was three times the legal limit and you had cocaine in your system, adding driving under the influence to the list, too. It’s not looking good kid.”_

_Steve’s face crumpled as he tried to swallow a sob. His head throbbed in pain as he stuttered out “D-didn’t mean t-t-to.”_

_He could remember it all. Could remember grabbing Nancy as she had tried to run back into the house when she saw him and jabbing her with the syringe of Ativan. He remember tying her up and putting tape over her mouth and carrying her to the car just so he could get her away so they could talk. He hasn’t meant to hurt her._

_“Listen, Steve. I’m going to wait until your a bit more coherent to do your statement. Once the doctor says you’ve improved some more, we’ll start the process. We’ll get you booked in the next couple days. Once you get better with your words we’ll take a statement. Until your cleared to be released from the hospital, this will stay on,” Hopper said, shaking the cuff wrapped around the railing, “and there will be a guard at the door around the clock.”_

_“M-m-mom?” Steve whispered, keeping his eye squeezed shut. Hopper sighed._

_“Your dad was here right before you woke up. He... he said they’d be disowning you. I’m sorry kid, your mom won’t be coming.” Steve let out another sob as Hopper squeezed his arm and left the room. Not for the first time since Dustin died, Steve wished he had never woke up._

***

“Keep moving, Harrington,” Office Wood grunted, pushing Steve forward is as he stared at the loading docks of Groveport Memorial Hospital .

He had spent two and a half months in GMH after the accident, working with neurologists and their repetitive scans, physical therapists to get his feet back under him, speech therapists to get his mouth used to forming the right words, other specialists to strengthen his cognitive skills. Every interaction had involved his wrist shackled to the bed or chair and a guard standing close by. The last thing he wanted to do was go back.

Steve shuffled forward, the chains between his feet jingling as Wood’s big hand wrapped around his bicep. They moved through the loading docks with Officer Althouse a few steps behind. They stood waiting for a staff elevator when Wood turned to him.

“You will stay facing the back of the elevator, got it, inmate?” Steve nodded his head, flinching when Wood jostled his arm. “I can’t hear you!”

“Yes, sir,” Steve mumbled, shuffling forward when the elevator door opened. He stood at the back of the elevator facing the wall as Althouse chatted with the male nurse who had met them to lead them where to go. Steve didn’t catch his name.

“You draw the short straw again, Sam?” The nurse said with a chuckle.

“You know, a day away from that hell hole isn’t that bad, Tom,” Althouse laughed back. “Besides, Harrington’s not going to give us any trouble. Are you Harrington?”

Steve didn’t answer, instead keeping his eyes locked on the back wall of the elevator. The elevator bell dinged and Wood yanked Steve’s arm to turn him around and lead him out of the elevator. Steve stumbled slightly over the chain but quickly straightened his spine. Tom, the nurse, led them down a series of halls to a back room. He opened Steve’s chart and pulled a pen from his pockets.

“I need to get his vitals before we take him for the CT scan. There can be no metal in the room or it will throw off the scans, so he’ll need to be uncuffed before we take him in.” Tom opened on of the upper cabinets and dropped a hospital gown on the table. “We need him in that, Sam.”

Althouse nodded and Wood moved forward to remove the transport belt and shackles from Steve’s wrists and ankles. Steve rubbed at his sore wrists as he moved to unbutton his jumpsuit. Wood stood in front of the door watching him while Althouse moved to stand next to the nurse. Steve pulled on the gown and held out his wrist when Tom held out a hospital ID bracelet. He stood on the scale when Tom pointed at it.

“145. That’s down another 15 pounds from the last time you were seen. Have you been eating?”

“Not a lot,” Steve mumbled, moving to sit on to the exam table as Tom pulled out a blood pressure cup. He stared at his feet as the cup tightened around his arm. The nurse sighed.

“150/100, which is very high, Harrington. Are you under a lot of stress?” Steve raised a brow, glancing at the guards before looking back at Tom. “Right. Last you were in you said you were having frequent headaches. Is that still happening?”

“Uh, yeah. Almost everyday.”

“On a scale of 1-10, 1 being bearable and 10 being the worst pain you’ve ever felt, how painful are the headaches?”

“An 8? Sometimes a 7 and sometimes a 9, but mostly an 8.”

“Are you still having issues with word finding? Sensitivity to light?”

“Sensitivity to light, yeah. The issues with words only when it’s a 9,” Steve said pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No seizures, loss of consciousness?” Steve flinched, remembering waking up from a series of seizures after the accident.

“No.”

“Do you have a headache now?” Steve nodded, chewing in his lip as Tom listened to his heartbeat. “Okay. You’ve had panic issues with the scans before, correct.”

Steve closed his eyes as he thought of the scan right before he was released where he panicked enough he almost passed out. “Yes.”

“Dr. Jackson has prescribed something to take the edge off,” Tom said, tying a tourniquet around Steve’s bicep to find a vain to draw blood. Steve hissed as the needle punctured his skin but continued to stare forward. Tom tapes a cotton ball over the needle site. “Let me check if they’re ready for you downstairs before I give it to you.”

The nurse finished placing labels in his vial is blood before moving to the door. Wood stepped aside so he could leave and moved back to his spot once the door opened. Althouse moves forward to cuff Steve’s hand behind his back while the waited.

“I’ll take ‘em off when we get down to the scan,” Althouse said, tightening them until Steve hissed. They waited in silence until Tom knocked on the door, announcing his return. He entered the room pushing a wheelchair and holding a syringe.

“This is a pretty strong dose of Xanax,” Tom said, rubbing Steve’s upper arm with an alcohol wipe before pushing the needle into the skin. “It tends to make people a bit loopy, hence the wheelchair. CT is ready for him, so whenever your ready, gentlemen.”

Tom moved out of the way as Wood and Althouse hauled Steve off the table by his elbows. They stood him in front of the chair as Wood unlocked one wrist of the handcuff and locked it to the arm rest of the of the chair. Wood pulled the extra pair of cuffs off his belt and did the same with Steve’s other wrist. Steve sat heavily in the chair, his head lulling to the side after the Xanax.

Wood pushed him down the hall, following Tom and Althouse to the elevator. He sat facing the back wall of the elevator as the three men behind him talked quietly. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a nurse slink away from him in fear when he was pushed into the elevator. He wasn’t even even in his tell tale jumpsuit but he guessed he couldn’t blame her.

They arrived to the basement floor where x-rays and other machines were held. Tom gestured to a spot outside a room marked “CT.”

“No metal beyond here. You can leave the chair here, too.” The two guards unhooked the cuffs from around his wrist. Steve groaned as the hauled him from the chair. Steve’s head hung forward as he stumbled into the exam room, grunting when Wood turned him so his butt hit the machines table. Wood pushed him, surprisingly gentle, to lay flat onto the table and helped Althouse to start strapping him onto the table.

“No funny business while the cuffs are off, right Harrington?” He asked quietly and Steve swallowed thickly before nodding. “Good boy,” Wood said with a wink as he moved out of the way so Tom could fit the head rest and cover into place.

“Just stay as still as you can, okay, Steve? It’ll be about 30-45 minutes, an hour tops to get all the scans Dr. Jackson needs. You’ll be just fine.” Steve nodded and then the cover clicked into place, keeping him from moving his head. His eyes felt heavy as Tom patted his shoulder before turning to Wood and Althouse. “You gentleman will need to wait in the booth with me. He won’t be going anywhere.”

“No funny business, Harrington!” Wood called again as the table slid into the machine. As the machine whirred to life, Steve squeezed his eyes shut against the bright light and squeezed his hands into fists where they were pinned to his side under the leather straps. He thought back to the first scan after he woke up.

*

_He’d been conscious for a few hours before the first seizure started, Hopper yelling for a nurse as he frantically unlocked his cuffed wrist and rolled him on his side. It lasted for a few minutes before he slipped unconscious. He ended up having four more over the next few days. After the fifth seizure Dr. Jackson had decided he was stable enough to move. He kept his eyes trained on the lights above him as the rolled a gurney down to the CT room. He was once again cuffed to the bed, but Hopper had kept pace with the gurney, his hand squeezing Steve’s shoulder tightly._

_Steve had cried out in pain as the orderlies lifted the sheet to move him from the gurney to the CT table and the world had tilted slightly as his head throbbed. He ended up puking in himself from the pain. He sobbed as one orderly cleaned him up and the other got him situated into the correct place._

_“I’ll be right on the other side the whole time, okay kid?” Hopper has asked, giving Steve a small thumbs up as the table slid into the machine. Steve has only cried harder. They drugged him to sleep on the way back to his room._

_The doctor had came into the room several hours after the scan once Steve was awake. This was the first time any of the doctors had really spoken to him since he woke up and Steve had wrapped his hand tightly around the bar the handcuff was attached to as he watched the man move. The doctor stuck several of the scans onto the lighted frame across Steve’s room and started to point at different areas._

_“Well Mr. Harrington, we have some good news. The bleeding in your brain has gone down significantly since you were first brought in.” He pointed at the darker areas on the scan before continued. “It hasn’t completely stopped, so we will continue to do these scans weekly for now. How has your memory been, any short term issues? Long term?”_

_Steve opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to force out a response. Finally he slurred out “w-w-w’rds.”_

_“Ah, yes, word finding is an expected complication after an injury to this part of your brain,” he pointed at a spot on the scan that seemed to be covered the darkest. “The occupational therapist will be able to provide some exercises to work on that, we don’t believe it will be permanent.” Steve nodded, furrowing his brow. “Any issues with hand-eye coordination? Getting your limbs to agree with what your telling them to do?”_

_Steve shrugged slightly and Hopper sighed next to him. He hadn’t really been out of bed at all and hadn’t tried to move too much._

_“Well once you start working with the physical therapist we’ll have a better understanding of how that’s going.” The doctor removed the scans of his head and slid two x-rays into the screen. “We repeated your x-rays after you were out from your CT scan. This is your leg when you were brought in and your leg today. It’s healing well and we should be able to downgrade you from the hard cast to a brace so you can work some with physical therapy to get back on your feet. Your arm, though might take more time before we can take the cast off. The broken ribs are healing as to be expected. Are you in much pain?” Steve whimpered and nodded. “We’ll increase your pain meds for the time being.”_

_The doctor had started flipping through Steve’s chart and writing things here and there. Steve squinted at him through the uncovered eye before choking out “s-s-seiz-.”_

_The doctor squinted at him before nodding in understanding. “The seizures?” He asked and Steve nodded. “With a traumatic brain injury, that’s something to be expected, Mr. Harrington, as your brain works to heal. Looking at these scans, though, I’m fairly confident that there shouldn’t be many, if any more. We’ll watch you closely and if they don’t stop within the week, we’ll put you on an anti-seizure medication. For now, I just want to watch. I know they seem scary, but they should stop. We are going to keep you attached to an EEG just we can monitor your brain activity and potential predict and track any future seizures._

_Steve nodded his understanding, closing his eye as he chewed on his lip. He flinched when he felt the doctor’s hand on his shoulder. “The stitches on your face are ready to come out. I’m just going to take the bandage off and pull them, okay?” Steve nodded, squeezing his eyes tightly as the doctor slowly removed the bandage covering his forehead and eye. He hadn’t looked when the nurses had changed the bandages before and was afraid to see what was beneath the bandages._

_“Unfortunately, with the amount of damage done by the windshield, the lacerations were quite deep and this is going to scar. With time, it may fade some, but there was nothing else we could do.” Steve caught his bottom lip between his teeth as the stitches were pulled out slowly. The doctor cleaned him up when he was done, before sticking the EEG sensors to his scalp and plugging them into the machine a nurse had brought into the room. It beeped like his heart monitor did and Steve shifted awkwardly as he tried not to pull against the cords._

_“There, all done. We’ll get you a higher dose of pain meds, but call the nurses if you need anything.” The doctor nodded at Hopper as he washed his hands and let himself out of the room._

_“You okay, kid?” Hopper asked as Steve stared at him through dead eyes, the right one slightly swollen and not used to to the light. Steve pointed at the mirror across the room, hissing when the metal dug into his skin when he reached farther than the handcuffs allowed. Hopper followed his gaze and hesitated. “You sure? Maybe let it heal a bit more before you look.”_

_Steve shook his head, snapping his finger and pointed at the mirror again. Hopper sighed as he slipped the mirror of the wall and approached the bed. The Chief kept ahold of the mirror, not forgetting that Steve was a criminal he was supposed to be guarding. He held the mirror up, watching as Steve’s face crumbled as he stared into his reflection._

_The stitched line spanned from his right temple and spiderwebbed out in different directions and up to his scalp. They had partially shaved his head to stitch the part that had gone into his hairline. One line ran parallel to the scar he had from Billy breaking that plate over his head at the Byers that night. The new scar ran through his split eye brow and across his eye lid start just shy of the right side of his eye. The cut continued from his eye lid to the skin just under his eye before following a jagged line to the bridge of his nose. The white of his eyes was bloodshot and he was almost surprised he still had an eye after how deep the cut seemed. Steve swallowed a sob as he tried to lift his left hand to trace the scar and felt the handcuff cut into his skin._

_“You were real lucky, Steve. I don’t think you get how lucky you were that you didn’t die,” Hopper said as he put the mirror back on the wall._

_“S-s-sh-should have j-j-just let m-m-me,” Steve whimpered as he dissolved into sobs. His elevated, broken legs and the handcuffs stopped him from turning away so Jim Hopper had no choice but to watch this boy he thought of as one of his own break down in front of him._

*

“Good afternoon, Mr. Harrington, Officers,” Dr. Jackson said as he stepped into the exam room. Steve sat in the procedure chair, his wrists again cuffed to the arm rests. Tom the nurse was pushing his hair out of the way as he marked the areas on Steve’s head to place the EEG markers. Dr. Jackson flipped through Steve’s results as the markers were placed and the machine was turned on.

“Tom, I want to recheck his blood pressure. 150/100 seems like it may have been a bit of White Coat Syndrome,” Doctor Jackson said, frowning down at Steve’s chart. Tom put the cuff around his arm and moved out of the way as Dr. Jackson pumped air into the cuff. He frowned as he released the air. “Or not. It’s not 152 over 102. How are your stress levels, Mr. Harrington?”

“I’m in maximum security prison for at least 15 years,” Steve said quietly, watching the waves on the EEG screen. “So, pretty high.”

“Yes, I guess that’s to be expected. You told Tom your having almost daily headaches. Do you think these may worsen with higher stress situations?”

“Um, probably?” Steve said as he shifted in his seat. The doctor turned on a small flash light and shined in his eyes.

“And the prison psychiatrist prescribed you Lithium and Risperidone?” Jackson asked as he flipped through the papers Althouse he provided him.

“I guess so? She just said it was a mood stabilizers and an anti-psychotic. I don’t know what they’re called.”

“And you’ve been on them for about 2 months it looks like,” Jackson said.

“Since the second day I was at Pendleton,” Steve said, tapping his leg jumping slightly with anxiety. Wood glared at him and he stopped. Jackson nodded before pulling out his latest scans and sticking them into the lighted frame.

“Well, your scans today are looking better. There’s still some swelling, which should explain the headaches. Your blood pressure isn’t helping that any. It looks like there’s a very small, slow bleed right here,” he pointed at a small spot and Steve nodded. “But I have a feeling that by your next scan that will have dried up.

“Your headaches... your rating then an 8 on an average day, 7 on a good day and a 9 on bad day, is that right?” Steve nodded. “When you were here in May, you said in the worse days they were at a 7, so that’s concerning. Are you taking the migraine meds we prescribed the last time you were here?”

“On the really bad days,” Steve said quietly. Jackson nodded, noting something down in Steve’s chart.

“Do you ever have an aura during these headaches? A ring of light or flashing lights?”

“Sometimes on the really bad days,” Steve said, furrowing his brows.

“And you’ve had no more seizures since the 5 you had after you woke up following the accident.”

“None.” Jackson nodded, scribbling in the chart as he furrowed his brow.

“If you start to have any aura’s, you get to the medical unit as soon as you can, okay? With the headaches getting worse and your blood pressure, I wouldn’t be surprised if you start having seizures again. I don’t want to start you on any anti-seizure meds if I don’t have to because they have there own side effects, so we’ll just keep an eye on all that. I am going to start you on a cocktail of blood pressure meds. Someone in his 20s shouldn’t have blood pressure levels that high and after your brain injury I’m concerned. I’ll be in contact with your psychiatrist but I believe something for anxiety will help keep the stress down also keeping your BP down. Does that make sense?” Steve nodded, his heart pounding in his chest.

Dr. Jackson ripped a couple prescriptions off his pad and handed them to Althouse. He continued looking through the letter that came with Dr. Potter’s records. “I’m going to ask the medical bay to check your blood pressure at least twice a day to make sure we have the doses right. It also looks like Dr. Potter had asked about the safety of using some other treatment methods after your brain injury.” Steve frowned, cocking an eye brow. Potter hadn’t said anything to him. Hell, she hasn’t even said what she thinks is wrong. “She feels that you have borderline personality disorder with episodes of severe depression. For some patients with severe depression, psychiatrists may use electroshock therapy to help stimulate some chemical changes in your brain to help improve depression. The problem with using ECT on you is that the shock causes a small seizure to bring about that change. We’re currently trying to prevent you from having seizures due to a traumatic brain injury. I will be letting Dr. Potter know that it will not be safe to use this treatment for you for the time being.”

“But it could be later?” Steve asker, his voice breaking.

“If we get all the bleeding stopped, the headaches and your BP under control, and you aren’t having seizures on your own, in the next few years you may be cleared. It’s just something we’ll have to take a day at a time.” Steve nodded, chewing on his lip. He didn’t like the sound of that. “We’ll get you started on these new meds. I’ll have you follow up with the prison doctor in a month and I’ll be in contact with him. We’ll see you then in December for a repeat if scans. As long as there’s no problems at that point we can move these appointments out to 6 months to a year. Gentleman, I think we’re done here.”

Once Dr. Jackson and Tom had left the room after removing the EEG sensor, Wood unlocked the handcuffs and handed Steve his jumpsuit. After he slid back into his shoes, Althouse wrapped the transport belt around his waist and fastened the handcuffs and shackles to his wrists and ankles. Steve swayed slightly when he went to move, still coming down from the high dose of Xanax. Wood huffed before pushing Steve back into the wheelchair. The chain between his ankles drug the ground slightly, making a jingling sound as he was pushed down the hall to the staff elevator.

“Don’t get a soft spot for him,” Althouse hissed at Wood as they waited for the elevator. “You know what he did.”

Wood grunted as he pushed Steve into the elevator, stopping so Steve was so close to the back wall the toes of his shoes touched the wall. “I’m not. Pretty Boy broke his brain once. He falls over and cracks his head open again, what good will he be to us then?”

***

Steve made it back to the prison shortly before dinner. He was strip searched again, made to bend over and grab his ankles to make sure he hadn’t smuggled something back even though the only time he was alone was when he was strapped to the CT scan table. They sprayed him down with the antibacterial soap and made him put a new uniform on. He sat in the chair across from Wood’s desk as the man checked him back in.

“I’m turning these scripts into Dr. Adams in the medical bay and will figure out if you needs to take the new meds tonight or if it will start tomorrow.” Steve nodded.

“I was supposed to have my visit with Potter today,” Steve said and Wood looked through his paperwork.

“You’ll see her tomorrow instead.” The guard gestured for Steve to follow him and he lead him through the locked door to his cell. “Open on Three!” He shouted, pushing Steve into the cell. “Close on three!” Steve watched as the guard took off down the line of cells.

“Where the hell have you been?” A voice came and Steve turned to face the last person he wanted to talk to; Billy.

***

They had lead Steve away immediately after breakfast, stopping him in the cafeteria and not even letting him come back to the cell. Billy had tried to follow them, asking repetitive questions that both Althouse and Wood ignored.

“Are you fucking listening to me?” Billy had finally yelled. “Where are you taking him?”

“Hargrove!” Althouse yelled, turning around to point his baton at Billy. “Do you want to go to solitary?” Billy frowned, shaking his head. “Then shut the fuck up and go back to your god damn cell.” Steve has stood there, staring at his feet and he never looked up as Wood continued to lead him to the front of the prison.

He had kept an eye out for Steve all day but the guy hadn’t came back to their cell, wasn’t at lunch, and no other inmate Billy talked to knew where he was.

Billy was just contemplating trying to call Hopper after dinner when he heard Wood yell for his cell door to be opened. He jumped up from his bunk as Steve was pushed into the cell, standing with his hands on his hips as Steve turned to watch Wood wall away.

“Where the hell have your been?” Billy asked, unable to keep the relief off his face. Steve rolled his eyes as he shouldered past Billy and climbed up onto his bunk. He was exhausted and was hoping to get a nap before dinner. But knowing Billy as well as he did, Steve knew he was getting a nap if Billy didn’t get his answer.

“Neurologist appointment in Groveport,” Steve mumbled, pointing at his head. “Have to get scans every couple months to make sure I don’t have a massive bleed in my head still.”

“All day?”

“It’s an hour and half to Groveport. The check in process was like 45 minutes, the scan itself was an hour. I had a lovely lunch dressed in a hospital gown in the holding cell they have down off the loading docks. It was another hour for them to read the scans, another hour in with the actual doctor and then an hour and a half home,” Steve said with a grunt.

“And?” Billy asked and Steve jumped slightly when he realized Billy was standing with his arms resting on his bunk so Billy could study his face. Steve met his eyes and contemplated falling back into the ‘I’m not talking to you about this’ line. But the concerned look on Billy’s face, the way his eye brows tilted down as he stared into Steve’s soul with those wide blue eyes broke something in Steve.

“There’s a small bleed that’s been healing since the accident,” Steve said with a sigh. “Doctor didn’t feel like it was a big deal. He’s more concerned that my headaches are getting worse and my blood pressure is super high. He seemed worried that I’d start having seizures again.”

“Again?!” Billy yelped, grabbing Steve’s wrist as he stared with wide eyes. Steve sighed, shutting his eyes.

“I had about five or six after I woke up. My doc said they are something be expected when your brains healing from a traumatic brain injury. They stopped after that first week.”

“But he thinks they could start again?” Billy asked, his brows dipping closer together.

“On the days when my headaches are super bad, I get an aura with them. And since they’re happening more often, it’s possible. Especially with my blood pressure and my 'high stress living environment',” Steve said with a snort. “You know the doctor had to nerve to ask if I was under a lot of stress as if I wasn’t handcuffed to the chair and being watched like a hawk by two armed guards. Like why would that be stressful?

“Anyway. He gave me something to get my blood pressure down. And he’s talking with Potter to add sometime anxiety-wise to help deal with the ‘stress,’” Steve used air quotes as he rolled his eyes.

“Jesus,” Billy huffed as he buried his head into Steve’s side. And maybe he was still a bit high from the Xanax they gave him or he was just too tired to keep fighting, but Steve gently worked his fingers into Billy’s curls, pulling lightly like he used to. Billy let out a quiet whimper but didn’t move, too afraid to spook Steve. “That sounds terrifying.”

“Kind of,” Steve mumbled. “They kept telling me how lucky I was. That not many people who went face first through the windshield at 60 MPH survive, let alone with their memory in tact. I had to do all these cognitive brain teaser things to learn how to talk again, and wait for a broken leg, arm and ribs to heal.

“And that was it. That’s all they kept saying to me for two and a half months. None of them ever seemed to mention that when I woke up from my 2 week coma, I was handcuffed to the bed facing a laundry list of charges, my parents had disowned me, and one of the two people I loved the most in the world was dead by my own fucking hand. Real god damn lucky there.”

Billy watched as Steve’s face twisted into a sneer and he had to stop himself from asking if he was the other person that Steve loved most in the world. He figured now wasn’t the time.

“You know what was the only lucky thing about my brain apparently getting worse?” Steve said, giving Billy a small smile. He reached forward and pressed two fingers to Billy’s temple where two identical burn marks had once stood.

“What?” Billy asked, swallowing thickly.

“I’m not healthy enough for Potter to give me shock therapy,” Steve said happily as he traced circles on Billy’s temple.

“She...she wants to give you shock therapy?” Billy asked, his eyes wide.

“According to the letter she sent to Dr. Jackson with my records asking for advice. You know she’s never said a diagnosis out loud to me before? Never mentioned anything other than those pills they shove down my throat. But according to Dr. Jackson I have Borderline Personality Disorder with Major Depressive Episodes. And apparently Shock Therapy can help with major depression. What do you think?”

“I...I don’t think Hawkins Lab was trying to reverse my depression, Stevie,” Billy said gently, catching Steve’s hand in his own as he tried to pull away. “That was only to keep me from talking about what we’d seen. I guarantee they wanted to leave me like El’s mom so I wouldn’t be any help when you all went down into the tunnels and to get you to break and comply.“

*  
 _Sometimes, after that night, when Steve would try to sleep he would only see the soldiers dragging him and Billy screaming down the hall. He could feel the arms pushing him into a chair and holding him there as another set strapped billy to a metal table. He could hear Billy thrashing and fighting as sometime wedged a rubber mouth guard into his mouth and someone else rubbed a gel on his temple. Billy fought to get free, meeting Steve’s eyes as if he was trying to convey he’d be fine._

_“You know where Eleven is,” a white haired man had said to Steve as the soldiers finished strapping Billy in place._

_“I’m not telling you shit,” Steve had hissed and the man had smiled._

_“Let’s start at 250,” he said and the man in front of a machine turned the dial. Someone touched two paddles to the gel on Billy’s forehead and the boy had screamed as he arched his back._

_“Billy!” Steve has yelled, trying to fight his way off the chair._

_“Where is Eleven?” The white haired man asked. Billy screamed at Steve around the mouth guard, shaking his head frantically as Steve stared in horror._

_“I don’t know,” Steve has said turning away from Billy to look at the white haired man._

_“Let’s try 300,” the man said and Steve braces himself as Billy screamed and jerked._

_“I don’t know! I really don’t know!” Steve sobbed, fighting harder against the arms holding him. “Please, just stop hurting him! I don’t know!”_

_“350.”_

_Billy trashed, his eyes squeezed shut as his head smacked against the metal table._

_“No!” Steve yelled, his face scrunched in anguish._

_“If you don’t tell me where she is, we’ll just have to keep going, now won’t we. Four hundred-“_

_The white hair man’s words were cut off as the door to the room was slammed open. El stood there, wiping blood from her nose as Hopper and Nancy pushed through, each with a gun in their hand. Hopper had shot the three guards holding Steve while Nancy took care of those hurting Billy. El had glared at the man with white hair before tilting her head. The man’s neck snapped._

_“Hopefully he’ll stay dead for real this time,” Hopper mumbled as Steve threw himself across the room to get to Billy._

“ _Baby. Baby, oh god can you hear me?” Steve whispered as he pulled the mouth guard from Billy’s mouth and tried to get the restraints off with shaky hands. Nancy quickly came to help and Billy’s head lulled to the side and he gave Steve a small smile._

_“It’s going to take more than a little electricity to get rid of me, Pretty Boy.” Steve had let out a wet huff as he pulled Billy off the table and they hurried to keep up with the rest of the team._

*

“Either way, it’s not something I have warm and fuzzy feelings about. Since shock therapy is supposed to give you mini-seizures and Dr. Jackson is trying to keep me from having seizures, it’s off the table for now. He said if everything heals it could be a possibility in the future.”

“Well then it’s something we can worry about in the future,” Billy whispered as he reached to push the hair away from Steve’s scar.

“We?” Steve whispered as his eyes fluttered shut.

“We,” Billy whispered back. “I am so sorry I left you, baby. I regretted it every day. I never wanted any of this happen and I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Just please give me that chance. Please, Steve.” Steve met Billy’s eyes and he saw they both had tears in there eyes.

“Okay,” Steve whispered. “Okay.” Billy leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to Steve’s lips. He gentle pressed kisses up Steve’s cheek and pressed a gentle kiss to Steve’s scar across his temple. “Don’t,” Steve whispered, wrinkling his nose. “It’s ugly.”

“It’s part of you,” Billy whispered, pressing kisses from Steve’s temple and down his eyelid to the bridge of his nose before pressing one last kiss to Steve’s lips. “If it’s a part of you, it could never be ugly.”

Steve gave Billy a shy smile before wrapping a hand around the back of Billy’s neck and kissing him deeply. Oh had he missed that.

***

Steve stood still as Wood cuffed his hands and ankles together the next morning in preparation for his appointment with Dr. Potter. He had been told to get his meds after breakfast for once and was now waiting anxiously to be led to medical. He gave Billy a small smile as the ring in his belt was snapped shut and he was lead away.

Wood pushed him into a chair inside one of the curtained off areas. Dr. Brown came in with a small cup of pills and a paper cup of water on a small tray. He set the tray down in the counter before pulling Steve’s chart.

“Just need to check your blood pressure, Harrington,” Dr. Brown said, carefully putting the cuff onto Steve’s arm without pulling his cuffed hand away from the belt. “150 over 100. We’ll I see why they started you on meds. Here you go, Harrington. Bottoms up.”

Steve rolled his eyes as he slouched to get the pill cup to his lips followed by the water. He opened his mouth, moving his tongue around to show the doctor he’d taken them.

“Good, Good. Now see that you don’t give us as much trouble with the meds as you have in the past. I expect to see you after dinner to check your pressure again. We’ll keep that up for a while to make sure everything is working.”

“Yes, sir,” Steve mumbled as Wood pulled him to his feet. He was lead further into the medical bay to Dr. Potter’s office and sat still as Wood strapped him into the chair. Wood studied his face before nodding and leaving the room.

The worst part of therapy, Steve had decided, was the damn chair. And the waiting. And the talking. Actually, it all sucked. But mostly the chair. He hated his uncomfortable it was and the clip holding him close to the back of the chair. He hated not being able to cross his legs and hated the ring holding his ankle chain close to the ground. He knew there were more straps in the chair for more rambunctious prisoners but the whole thing seemed overkill.

He shifted awkwardly as he waited and sighed in relief when Dr. Potter finally knocked on the door. She nodded at him politely before moving to sit at her desk.

“How are you today, Mr. Harrington?” She asked, opening a drawer for a pen and pulling a legal pad close to her.

“Fine,” he responded quietly.

“You has a long day yesterday with your trip to the doctor. How do you feel about what Dr. Jackson said?”

“I uh, guess I’m kind of worried that the headaches are getting worse,” Steve said with a shrug. “And that he thinks I could start having seizures again.”

“Do you have a headache now?”

“I always have a headache. But it’s manageable now.”

“And you know to tell a guard or go straight to medical if you have a migraine with an aura?”

“Yep,” Steve said, chewing on his lip.

“Since you did have your appointment yesterday, why don’t we talk about the accident,” Dr. Potter said, leaning on her crossed arms as she studied Steve.

“Why do you want to do shock therapy on me?” Steve asked instead, studying her face as she looked at him in surprise.

“You have had several episodes the past few years that could be mistaken as manic,” the women started slowly. “And have had just as many if not more depressive episodes. Those episodes are what landed you here in the first place. After our discussion, I was able to diagnose you with borderline personality disorder rather than bipolar. But the depressive episodes are what is making things worse for you, Steve. Shock therapy can help stimulate a chemical response to fight those depressive episodes.”

“But... I have a history of a TBI and seizures. If I was going to have a chemical response, wouldn’t it have happened then?” Steve asked, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

“The brain is a mysterious thing, Steve. Either way, per your neurologist, it’s off the table for now. We’ll cross that bridge should we come to it again. Now, let’s get back to the subject as hand. The accident.” Steve sighed but nodded. He was so tired of talking about the accident he didn’t even out up a fight. But for the first time since he woke up after the accident, he had something to look forward to: going back to his cell to be with Billy.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay they're finally talking! I am so sorry for the long wait; I some how have a social life now and it's exhausting. I promise I'll try to update soon. 
> 
> Please comment or leave kudos. It's nice to know someone else appreciates this,


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